


Harry's Green Eyed Jealousy

by larosesombre, Scarlett_Lucian



Series: Drarry Rewrites [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon Rewrite, Dancing, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Jealous Harry Potter, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Secret Crush, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larosesombre/pseuds/larosesombre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Lucian/pseuds/Scarlett_Lucian
Summary: A Yule Ball rewrite. Draco Malfoy finds himself forced to avoid Harry Potter after Crabbe and Goyle push him into asking Harry to the Yule Ball. Meanwhile, Harry comes to the realization that he actually wanted to go with Draco after he sees Draco flirting with an attractive Durmstrang student.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Drarry Rewrites [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007703
Comments: 31
Kudos: 297





	Harry's Green Eyed Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> This is another Drarry canon rewrite with larosesombre writing Harry’s POV, and Scarlett_Lucian writing Draco’s. If you enjoy this fic, we recommend you check out our Second Task fic which is the first installment in our Drarry canon rewrite series.

Draco Malfoy had always been aware of the drawbacks of having two confidantes who were of slightly lacking intelligence: dumbed-down explanations of even the simplest of spells, no in-put for any of his schemes, and studying for end of year exams with them was a torture worse than that inflicted by the Cruciatus curse. But Crabbe and Goyle were loyal to a fault, a fact which cancelled out all of their shortcomings, especially as it gave Draco an audience to rant to about his father as they walked down the corridors to Transfiguration.  
“And would you believe it, he just writes to me out of the blue, mere weeks before Christmas break, saying that I have to stay at school, without even giving a semblance of a reason?” Draco spat, clenching the scrawled over parchment so tightly that a slight rip snaked over one side. “Well?” He prompted, looking to his friends for some sort of reaction.  
They shrugged, expressions blank. Draco suppressed a groan, raking an exasperated hand through his hair. “Honestly, you two, any sort of response will do!”  
Crabbe glanced up at Goyle, seeming to shake his head slightly. Draco frowned suspiciously.  
“What’s going on with you?” He demanded, thrusting the crumpled up letter into his satchel. “You’re acting very odd, like Potter and his friends when they’re up to something. Really, it’s a sign of how low standards have fallen at this school that none of the professors even seem to blink an eye at any of their antics. ‘Course, it’s all Potter’s fault, mincing about, charming the wands off everyone with his stupid scar. Everyone is falling over themselves to lick his boots just because he somehow managed not to die when he was a baby. Merlin, that’s a statement that can be applied to literally every other student at this school, but no! Not a single bad word against their precious Potter. He just has to bat his green eyes,” Draco’s insides swooped a bit at the thought of their brilliant emerald depths but he quickly pushed past the thought, not daring to linger any longer for fear that he would get carried down a train of thought that would only end in heartache. “And, and everyone comes running!” He finished lamely, stumbling over the words as he furiously tried to push any fantastical thoughts of Potter running to him far back where they couldn’t hurt him. He glanced over at Crabbe and Goyle, hoping they wouldn’t notice the faint blush staining his cheeks and if they did, that they would simply chalk it up to his passionate hatred of the Boy Who Lived and Drove Draco Mad With His Mussed Hair. Damn.  
But neither boy even looked up, instead focused on nudging each other in a manner they obviously thought was discreet.  
“What?” Draco snapped, eyes narrowing. “Something’s going on. For Salazar’s sake, say something!”  
“Well,” Goyle said slowly, eyes still fixated on Crabbe, who seemed to be shaking his head again. “Maybe your father doesn’t want you home for the break because of how much you talk about Potter.” Goyle seemed to have to pause and think between each word, so it took him a few minutes to get the entire sentence out, so long that Draco had nearly forgotten what the beginning of it had been by the time it was over.  
“Excuse me?” He said, incredulous, heart racing dangerously. He turned to face the other two boys head on, their group blocking almost the entire span of the hallway, forcing other students to squeeze past uncomfortably, limbs and textbooks knocking into the group of Slytherins.  
Goyle shrugged dully and Crabbe stuttered out a few words of his own: “You talk about him all the time.”  
“I do not!” Draco fairly yelled, before clamping down on his words, instead whispering so furiously it was nearly a hiss. “I do not talk about Potter all the time! What a thing to say!”  
“What about just now?” Crabbe timidly suggested, wincing under the quelling glare Draco shot his way.  
“Ridiculous,” he said firmly, turning to move on down the hallway. “I do no such thing.”  
“Just ask him to the Yule Ball.” Goyle’s tone was sickeningly patient, as though the tables had turned and now Draco was the idiot who needed a simplified explanation.  
Draco whirled around, wand out, hand shaking nearly as quickly as his heart. “What did you just say?”  
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances, before sighing in a fashion that was almost - pitying? Salazar, no.  
“I said, ask Potter-” Draco gestured frantically for Goyle to stop speaking as he caught a glimpse of an all-too familiar trio turning into the corridor.  
“Shut up, Goyle, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said forcefully, ignoring his trembling hand. “I don’t think of Potter that way, what an absurd thought, I mean, really-”  
“Yes, you do,” Goyle said stubbornly. “And Vincent and I are sick of hearing you talk about him. You’re pathetic.”  
Crabbe nodded firmly.  
Draco’s blood was boiling now, although whether from Goyle’s patronizing or Potter’s ever-increasing proximity, he dared not contemplate.  
But like it or not, Potter and his two friends were getting closer by the moment and Draco shuddered at the thought of them overhearing this conversation, so he summoned every last fragment of his patience and pasted a smile on his face.  
“Now, listen, I don’t know where the two of you got such ideas, but we are not going to discuss them anymore until we are in private, do you understand?”  
“No,” Goyle said simply. “You’ll just start talking about Potter again. We’re done. You’re going to do something, now.”  
Draco eyed the approaching dark-haired figure frantically. “Goyle, no. Just-”  
“Ask him,” Goyle boomed and picked Draco up by the back of his robes and fairly flung him into the nearing group of Gryffindors. Draco smacked into Potter’s shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his robes in order to avoid completely losing his balance and falling onto the ground. Which meant that he was soon face to face with Harry Potter himself and his sidekicks, all of whom had drawn their wands and were now pointing them menacingly at Draco.  
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Weasley demanded, hair and freckles as sickeningly orange-tinted as ever.  
Draco fought to retain his composure, wanting to display his usual sneer, say something biting, and walk away before he lost his head completely and allowed himself to get caught on Potter’s gaze. Which is of course what happened, because apparently Draco had done something to offend some deity up above who had now decided to make his life as painful as possible.  
So Draco just stood there, breath slowly slipping away from him as he was swallowed by Potter’s green gaze, as words slowly began to spin out of his mouth in an almost dream-like haze. “I was wondering, well, you see, what I want is, well, what I’ve actually wanted for a very long time, odd as though it may seem, and believe me, I have tried to make it seem less odd, but it really never won’t be, because it’s you and me, and you’re, well, you, and I’m definitely me, although maybe perhaps not at this minute, even though I always feel the most myself when I’m around you, Potter, which is why I want you to come to the Yule Ball with me, so we can be around each other without killing each other for once and I can just stand there and look at you without feeling guilty and my insides being twisted up in knots, except they probably still will be, because you’re gorgeous and I’m- oh, shit,” Draco faltered, whispering the ending obscenity to himself as he realized that he had speaking aloud for the past minute and that, yes, that frozen look on Potter’s beautiful face was because he had heard absolutely everything Draco had just said.  
“What the hell, Malfoy?” Potter said, his tone oddly soft, as though he was saying “Do you love me?”, a comparison Draco hastily shoved to the side, for fear that yet again he would speak aloud his thoughts and he didn’t think that even he wanted to know what his answer would be to such a question.  
So instead he ran. Footsteps pounding down the hallway, away from his embarrassment, away from the world, and most importantly, away from Harry Potter.

***

Harry leaned against the wall, pressing his back to the exposed stone in between a portrait of a wizard with a rather dramatic moustache, and a tapestry of a wicked looking dragon. He was aware that there were several people staring at him, but he didn’t know what to say to them. His insides were a knotted mess of dizzying, tingling, painful, tight confusion. Harry felt slightly nauseous, picking Draco’s words apart over and over in an endless loop.  
It had seemed so different from anything Draco had ever said to him before. In fact, Harry couldn’t recall a single insult in the babble he had just had directed at him. If Harry’s legs weren’t so shaky, he might have run after Draco. To make sure he hadn’t been possessed or poisoned, if for no other reason. Something must have happened to incite such drivel.  
Malfoy was toying with him. That was it. There had been no point to this nonsense, but to draw Harry in. Draco must want Harry to feel confused. There was nothing to this, no other explanation for the barrage Harry’s emotions were hammering him with. He was the victim of Draco’s cruel trick. That was all.  
“What in Merlin’s soggy trousers was that?” Ron said, once he regained his voice. He had been trying to speak since Draco disappeared from sight, but had been unable to do anything but sputter. “Harry?”  
Harry didn’t have the energy to respond. He was very grateful for the wall behind him. He was sure that without it he’d be on the floor.  
“Bloody hell, do you think Malfoy was confessing his love to you?” Ron said, eyes wide. “I mean, that’s what that sounded like, right? That can’t be it.” Ron’s voice reached a higher pitch as he wheeled frantically to Hermione. “That’s not what just happened, right? Right? It wasn’t!”  
“No!” Harry snapped. That couldn’t have been it. “Draco’s a git, but he’s not a sentimental one. Don’t be absurd Ron. Obviously this is some brilliant scheme on his part.” If Draco had been asking him out, well that was their business anyway. Ron didn’t need to know anything about it.  
Harry peeled himself off the wall, and walked coolly past Crabbe and Goyle who had been standing there, mouths agape as they watched the interaction. Harry didn’t know what had just happened, but he decided he’d be better off pretending it had never occurred.  
Hermione ran slightly to catch up with Harry. “It seemed genuine to me, Harry.” She said softly. “But if you’re not going with Malfoy, then who?”  
This gave Harry pause. He hadn’t actually thought about it yet. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he would have said yes to Draco, but he also couldn’t imagine himself going with anyone else. Rather than voice this unsettling truth to his friends, Harry shrugged.  
“I haven’t got a date yet either.” Ron said, sympathetically. “Hermione?”  
There was something strange in Ron’s tone. It sounded more like a terrible segue into asking Hermione if she would be his date, and less like a polite inquiry into whether or not she had a date yet. Hermione, however she had interpreted it, chose to respond to it with a crushing: “I’ve got a date. If either of you want to dance with somebody at the ball you should hurry up about it. Harry, it’s probably not too late to go after Draco.”  
The same nauseous tingle crept up through Harry’s midriff to engulf his heart. He was spared from having to respond by Ron’s strangled: “What? Who the hell are you going with?”  
“I’m not telling you. You’d only make fun of me.” Hermione said, following Harry into their next class leaving poor Ron to stand flabbergasted in the hallway.

***

Draco did his best to avoid Harry Potter, or really any Gryffindor for that matter, in the weeks leading up to the Ball. Of course they still had classes together, but Draco kept his head firmly hung over his notes and textbooks, not daring to look up. He had taken to getting up very early to have breakfast long before any of the Gryffindors would frequent the Great Hall and whenever they happened to pass each other in the corridors, he would rummage around in his satchel as though looking for something vitally important. Perhaps his sanity, as it had obviously gone missing during his gut-wrenching altercation with Potter.  
Draco hadn’t even wanted to attend the Yule Ball after the incident, but Pansy pouted and moaned until he said yes just to shut her up and let him wallow in his misery in peace.  
Even Crabbe and Goyle were keeping their distance, the first decision of theirs that Draco would ever classify as ‘wise’.  
So when the day of the Yule Ball arrived, Draco had his entire dormitory to himself to slowly go through the well-practiced motions of clothing himself in the dress-robes he usually wore for fancy dinners his mother held at the Manor, dinners where he was expected to be charming and witty and to be the model of a perfect son who would someday make a perfect husband to one of their friends’ perfect pureblood daughters, with whom he was expected to breed perfect pureblood children.  
Disgusted by the vile memories his dress-robes conjured, Draco turned away from the mirror, fixing his cuff-links on and ruffling back his hair carelessly. It’s not like he was actually trying to impress anyone, least of all Pansy, who nevertheless squealed with delight when he came downstairs, clapping her hands as she took in his elegant charcoal robes, which clashed spectacularly with her garishly frilly orange dress.  
“Oh, Draco, you look so handsome,” she gushed appreciatively, before spinning around to prompt his own comments on her appearance.  
“We better get going,” he simply replied, clenching his jaw reflexively. Merlin, he could barely remember why he’d agreed to this. The upcoming evening was sure to be nothing less than pure hell.  
Pansy chattered the entire way to the Great Hall, to which Draco numbly responded with icily polite remarks of “You don’t say?” and “Of course.”  
She somehow managed to slip her hand around his arm as they entered the glittering hall and mingled with their fellow students, all dressed up in their fancy best, although, Draco noticed rather smugly, none of the blokes’ robes even compared to his in terms of tailoring. Why, more than a few were likely dusty old relics worn by their fathers or even grandfathers for some of the more moth-eaten ones. Although none were as truly terrible as Weasley’s, and by the look on his face, he seemed to know it.  
Slightly cheered, Draco allowed himself to be guided over to sit at one of the circular tables set up around the refreshment trundle where several other Slytherins were already gathered. Pansy immediately fell into conversation with some of them, while he slowly sipped away at a glass of punch that had been placed at his seat. He nearly dropped the crystal cup when Dumbledore’s voice suddenly boomed across the large room.  
“Welcome, students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, to what I believe will be a simply marvelous evening! And, here to kick off our festivities, are our Triwizard champions!”  
Stomach flipping, Draco craned his head to watch as the four students and their dates came into the Great Hall. Instantly, his eyes were drawn to Harry Potter’s dark hair, still messy as ever despite the formal occasion. Typical Potter, he thought, half caught between a sneer and a sigh. Draco didn’t know the name of the girl on Potter’s arm, but she could have been the queen of England and he still wouldn’t have recognized her tonight. Not when Potter was so magnetic that Draco felt as though his heart might fly out of his chest from the mere sight of him. He truly tried to look away, knowing that indulging himself this way would only make their future casual encounters all the more painful, but he just couldn’t do it.  
Resigned to the inevitable pain that would follow, Draco watched as Potter steadily steered his partner across the dance floor, not particularly skilled, but endearingly earnest in his attempt. He was more focused on his footwork than on his partner, something Draco took far too much enjoyment from before he sternly reminded himself of the incident, heart twinging.  
The song finally came to an end. Potter awkwardly bobbed a quick bow to his partner, before rushing over to collapse by Weasley’s side at one of the other tables. The dark-haired Gryffindor was deliciously disheveled and his cheeks were pink from dancing, causing Draco to finally force himself to look away. If he didn’t, he was going to end up doing something stupid. Stupid like asking Harry Potter to dance.

***

When Harry sat down, breathless after a couple of dances, the first thing he noticed was Draco at the other end of the great hall. It seemed that after their failed interaction several weeks prior, Draco had also felt the pressure to find a date. He had Pansy on his arm, still managing to comport himself with grace regardless of how he felt about his dance partner. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the pale colour bringing out the slight colour of his cheeks. Draco was naturally pale, but he had dressed to his advantage. Harry was sure he had been wearing heavier robes when he entered. No doubt Draco, like everyone else, was already flushed with dancing and had removed them. Harry found himself focusing now on the tight dress shirt that Draco had been wearing underneath.  
Harry wasn’t jealous of Pansy. He didn’t have any reason to be. He didn’t like Draco, and Draco didn’t like him, so neither of them could possibly be jealous. Nevertheless, Harry decided he would keep an eye on the couple. That way if they were dancing too close, or tried to sneak off somewhere, he could get them in trouble. He was pretty sure he had spotted Filch lurking by the entrance, periodically yelling at students who tried to sneak out of the hall past him.  
“Harry?” Parvati said, jabbing him in the shoulder. “Have you been listening to me at all?”  
“Sure.” Harry said, still eyeing Draco and Pansy.  
“What are you looking at?” She snapped, turning her head in the direction Harry was gazing. “Are you looking at Malfoy?”  
“No!” Harry said vehemently.  
“Merlin, white was not a good choice for him.” Parvati said. “He looks more washed out than usual.”  
Harry, who thought that the outfit brought out the slight flush in Draco’s cheekbones very nicely, finally took his eyes off of the boy and turned to Parvati. “I think he looks wonderful.” Harry said with conviction.  
Harry turned his attentions back to Draco after that. He didn’t even notice when Parvati got up to dance with a Beauxbatons student. He didn’t notice that she never came back to sit with him either. The next thing he was conscious of other than Draco was a strangled noise from Ron.  
“Hermione is coming over!” Ron hissed, straightening the frightful ruffle on the front of his robes.  
“Hi.” Harry managed, as Hermione took Parvati’s seat beside him. Ron was very silent, he just kept fiddling with his lace frills.  
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Hermione said, leaning over and fixing Ron’s frill for him. “Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks.”  
Ron pulled away from her as if burnt. “Viktor?” He hissed. “I’m surprised he hasn't asked you to call him Vicky yet.”  
Harry tuned back out as Hermione and Ron began to argue. He looked back towards the spot where he had last seen Draco and Pansy. Pansy was alone now, and Harry scanned the room, anxiously trying to spot Draco in the crowd. He finally caught sight of him over by the refreshment table, next to Krum who was getting Hermione’s drink.  
Just as Harry began to relax again, he spotted a boy heading in Draco’s direction. A tall, muscular boy, in dress robes with a Durmstrang crest on his sleeve. Harry would have assumed that the boy was one of Krum’s friends, making his way over to say hello. But the boy didn’t stop to talk to Krum, instead he made his way over to Draco.  
Harry felt his stomach knot itself as he watched the boy lean back on the table, propping himself up and saying something to Draco. Harry couldn’t hear them from this distance, but it was pretty clear what was happening. The boy even had the audacity to reach out and touch Draco’s perfect hair. It was just a light touch, but the way Draco stepped back, visibly flustered, even from a distance, made Harry want to scream. He thought, for a moment, that Draco turned to look for him, hesitating. He must have imagined it, for in the next instant, Draco had stepped back towards the guy with fresh resolve.  
Harry shifted in his seat, discomfort and something quite unidentifiable shooting up his spine in waves. Draco was smiling at this guy. This upsettingly attractive guy who had touched Draco’s hair, made him blush and now was apparently making him laugh. Harry felt sick. He rose, leaving Ron and Hermione to their squabble, and made his way closer to the table. He needed to know just what it was that this guy was saying to Draco.  
“You have beautiful eyes, too.” Harry heard the guy say as he got closer. He plastered himself up against a pillar, trying not to be spotted. He wasn’t sure why he was so interested in this interaction, but he couldn’t have anyone noticing that he was.  
“Thank you.” Draco’s voice was soft. He sounded nervous, but happy, and the fact that he was enjoying the encounter twisted the knife in Harry’s heart. Harry half wanted to step in, the stand protectively in front of Draco and to ask if this boy was bothering him. The other half was torn between wanting to run away, and wanting to leave Draco alone. He sounded genuinely happy, and Harry didn’t want to take that away from him.  
“Will you dance with me?” The tall, gorgeous, guy asked. He extended a hand to Draco, and Harry watched, pain shooting through his entire body as he watched Draco’s pale, slender fingers fold into the other’s strong hand. Draco’s beautiful face tilted up to smile at the guy again, his smile soft and blissful as he allowed the boy to lead him out onto the dance floor.  
Harry thought he might be sick. He leaned back into the cool pillar, wanting to shut his eyes to block out the sight, but finding himself utterly unable to. How could he have let this happen? Draco looked perfect next to his dance partner. They fit together perfectly, though it pained Harry to admit it. Draco grinned, the boy laughed, and though they were out of earshot now, Harry had no doubt they were exchanging clever witticisms of some sort. He felt a pang as he imagined the banter, filling it out in his head. The kind of things Draco said to him, the things he took and twisted and locked into a little box in his heart. Harry didn’t realize that he had been collecting Draco’s words until they all tumbled out, parading around him to torture him. They weren’t his anymore, they belonged to the boy who had his arms around Draco, whirling him around the dance floor.  
If Harry had been able to look away, he would have taken a moment to collect himself. Instead, he stayed there, watching, absorbing the sight and wanting to melt away more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Finally, the last, torturously slow notes of the song faded away. The boy took Draco’s arm and led him back to the refreshments table. Harry waited, his breath catching in his throat, praying that the boy would walk away.  
“Thank you for the dance,” the boy said. “It’s not every day that one is able to dance with a pure-blood heir. It has been an honour.”  
“It’s not every day that one is able to find someone who still appreciates such things.” Draco said, scanning the room behind the boy’s head as if looking for someone in particular who didn’t appreciate his lineage.  
“I hope we will dance again,” The boy smiled, finally releasing Draco’s hand as he turned to go. Harry watched his retreating back, contemplating his choices. He could let the whole thing pass, remind himself that Draco could dance with any one he wanted to. Or he could go over and dance with Draco himself. Harry wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but the choice was made for him when he suddenly discovered that his legs had moved of their own accord.  
Draco’s eyes widened as Harry approached. He nodded a hello, and pretended to be busy with the arrangement of drinks on the refreshment table. “Malfoy.” Harry said, trying desperately to figure out what he should say. They hadn’t actually spoken since the incident. His mind scrambling, Harry said the first thing that he thought of that actually resembled an English sentence. “Saw you dancing. Can’t get a better partner than that? He had two left feet.”  
“He was very graceful.” Draco said, scowling at Harry.  
“He was terrible.” Harry wasn’t sure what he was doing, but there was something cathartic about bad mouthing that horrible, attractive guy who had swept Draco off his feet.  
“He was better than you, Potter,” Draco sneered. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.” He bit rather viciously into a chocolate frog, as if to punctuate the words.  
A challenge. “Try me.” Harry said, surprising himself nearly as much as he had surprised Draco. For a moment he thought Draco was going to choke on his mouthful of chocolate.  
“What?” Draco sputtered, after his coughing fit had died down. “You can’t be serious.”  
Harry nodded, extending his hand, watching as Draco’s pale, slender fingers folded into Harry’s own. His hand fit perfectly in Harry’s, and all the dizzying nausea that had come with seeing him dance with the boy was gone, swept away by Draco’s proximity.  
“Understand, I’m only doing this to prove to you that I can dance.” Harry said, as he led Draco onto the dance floor. A slow song started up, and Harry fumbled, struggling to remember where he should put his hands.  
“Evidently you can’t.” Draco spat at him. He gripped Harry’s right hand and placed it on his shoulder. “You’d better let me lead.”  
Harry would have protested, but the next thing he knew, Draco’s arm was around his waist and they were moving and he didn’t have time to do anything at all. Harry was terrified, more scared than he had been during the opening dance. He kept his gaze on his feet, staunchly avoiding Draco’s beautiful eyes.  
“We haven’t danced into anything yet,” Draco said, “and you miraculously haven’t stepped on my toes either. Perhaps you’re a better dancer than I gave you credit for.”  
“See?” Harry croaked, focusing even harder on his feet. “I told you I could prove it.”  
They danced mostly in silence, which made Harry anxious. He wasn’t sure if he should attempt to fill the void, to make Draco laugh as the boy from earlier had, or if he should just savour the moment. By the end of the dance, he had only trod on Draco’s foot once, and he had managed not to topple over, so he decided that he should count the dance as a success.  
“You’re a terrible dancer, Potter.” Draco told him, as the music slowed to a stop. He had a slight smile on his face that enforced Harry’s opinion that the dance had gone well.  
“Well, you’ll never have to put up with my terrible dancing again.” Harry said, hoping that Draco would correct him. He’d tell him that he didn’t mind the terrible dancing, no matter how crushed his toes might be by the end of the night.  
The smile faded from Draco’s face. “I guess not,” he said. “Goodnight, Potter.”  
There was the nausea again. Harry wanted to correct it, to explain himself, but instead he found himself watching the back of Draco’s head, as he walked away from Harry. Legs shaking, Harry skulked back over to Ron who was sitting alone now. Apparently he’d had the same luck as Harry this evening. Padma had abandoned him, Hermione was dancing with Krum again, and Ron looked as miserable as Harry felt. He started to complain to Harry as soon as Harry sat down.  
“I don’t understand women.” Ron moaned.  
“I don’t understand Malfoy.” Harry replied.  
“What do they all see in Krum?” Ron asked.  
“What does he want from me?” Harry responded, ignoring his friend’s question.  
“He’s an idiot.” Ron continued. It was unclear whether he meant Krum or Draco.  
“I danced with him.” Harry informed Ron.  
“Who, Krum? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him too.” Ron said, angrily watching Hermione and Krum waltz past.  
“I’m going to dance with him again.” Harry said firmly, as if he could make it happen through sheer conviction. “Just wait and see.”

***

Draco quickly strode away from Harry Potter, heart thundering loudly in his ears. There had been a moment back there, when he had his arms around Potter and managed to finally get the other boy to look up from his feet when he had thought there might have been . . . something. A glimmer swimming below the surface of Potter’s heady green gaze that had flashed into existence as he looked up at Draco. A faint smile had slipped onto the Gryffindor’s face and he had seemed to press closer to Draco, every point of contact between them burning with a sort of wonderful agony brought on by their proximity. And when the song had come to an end, Draco could have sworn that Potter had held onto him for a moment longer than necessary, causing his breath to hitch and a thousand wild daydreams to spring back to life, brought on by a false sense of security that was mercilessly shattered a moment later by Potter’s very clear rejection.  
It was Draco’s own fault really for getting carried away by the moment, when the dance obviously had been nothing more than Potter’s further way of humiliating him after the first incident. Pathetic, he thought bitterly. Pathetic that he so easily was swayed by Potter’s unconscious charm when all the other boy was trying to do was embarrass him. They were enemies after all and Draco would do well to remember that and push aside any more foolish notions about dances or meaningful glances that really could only hold dislike.  
He clenched a portion of the cloth dripping off of the refreshment’s table and threw back a goblet of pumpkin juice, wishing that the cold taste could wash away any memory of the last few minutes of tainted heaven.  
“Was that Harry Potter you were dancing with?”  
Draco turned to see Christoffer, the Durmstrang boy he had been dancing with earlier, lounging casually beside the table, hands tucked into his pockets and friendly curiosity in his dark eyes. He had pretty eyes, Draco admitted, although green was far more attractive than brown.  
“Yes,” he said shortly, setting his goblet down with a dull ‘thud’.  
“Are you friends with him?” Obviously Potter was famous even at the northern school.  
“No, I’m not,” Draco said numbly, stomach sinking terribly. No. No, this wasn’t right. Harry Potter didn’t get to do this to him, Draco Malfoy. Not tonight. Tomorrow, he could go back to wasting away over the Chosen One’s unconsciously disarming smile and disastrous perfect hair. But right now . . . “I’m not friends with him, but I’d certainly like for us to get better acquainted,” Draco said, smiling smoothly up at the Durmstrang boy. “Take the next dance with me?” He extended an elegant hand, pretending that the rush he felt when Christoffer took it wasn’t because it reminded him of when Potter had done the same thing. He determinedly shoved any inkling of the notion to the back of his mind. For the rest of the evening, no more thinking about Harry Potter.  
And so Draco attempted to focus on Christoffer, laughing when he made a joke and even coming up with a few of his own witticisms. He tried to ask polite questions about his family, and apologized when he slipped off into thought and missed one of Christoffer’s own questions about Draco, something which occurred far more often than Draco liked to admit. Although he liked to admit even less that the thoughts he was slipping into always seemed to circulate around a certain messy haired Gryffindor.  
Draco even shot occasional coy glances at Christoffer and was certain that, as the night was winding down, that if he wanted to, he could end the evening with a Yuletide kiss from a boy who was undoubtedly attractive, clever, and seemed genuinely interested in Draco. If only he could stop thinking about another boy who also possessed the first two points but not the crucial third.

***

Harry lapsed into silence for the rest of the ball, allowing Ron to continue his tirade. He watched Draco, hoping that another opportunity would arise for Harry to ask him to dance. He had no such luck. Draco seemed to have a full dance card, dancing with the same guy again and again. Every time he was free, Pansy would get to him before Harry could. It was torture, watching Draco and being unable to dance with him again. The phantom sensation of Draco’s arm around his waist left Harry breathless and frustrated.  
As the ball wound to a close, the final dance began to play. Harry sat, watching as his classmates danced around him. He and Ron seemed to be the only ones still sitting, a testament to their sad situation. As Draco passed close by in the arms of the boy from earlier, Harry decided he’d had enough. Dragging a rather confused Ron to his feet, he awkwardly danced them closer to Draco.  
“Harry, what are you doing?” Ron yelped, as Harry stepped directly on his feet. All of the concentration he’d had when he’d danced with Draco was gone.  
“Shut up.” Harry responded, yanking Ron towards Draco again. They were almost in earshot. At the same time, Ron spotted Hermione, and tried to move them in the opposite direction towards her and Krum. The resulting skirmish ended in both of them falling to the floor in a tangle of robes. Embarrassed, they returned to their bench and refused to speak to each other for the remainder of the dance. Harry felt he should apologize, but his opening to do so disappeared as the song ended and his eyes found Draco again.  
Draco was saying goodbye to the gorgeous guy, smiling at him, holding his hand. Draco said something, and the guy laughed loud enough for Harry to hear it clearly. Harry watched, his soul tying itself into twisted knots as he saw the guy lean in as if to kiss Draco.  
For a moment, Harry thought Draco was going to lean the rest of the way to meet the other boy’s lips. Relief flooded through him as Draco turned instead, twisting away from the other boy who frowned and planted a kiss on Draco’s hand instead before walking away.  
Pansy was nowhere in sight, and the hall was nearly empty now. With one last apologetic glance at Ron, Harry made his move. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but decided against saying anything rude or sarcastic when he saw the look on Draco’s face. He looked pensive and sad.  
“You’re in high demand tonight.” Harry said softly, stopping a couple feet away.  
Draco looked up, startled. “Potter.”  
“Malfoy.” Harry took a tentative step towards Draco. “Thank you for dancing with me earlier.”  
Draco frowned at him. “What are you thanking me for? For putting up with your terrible footwork?”  
Harry was tempted to fall back into the pattern of trading barbs, it felt normal and correct. It was what they were supposed to be doing. But he had more important things to address now. If he didn’t confront this thing head on, he could look forward to more gorgeous guys pursuing Draco, more jealous nausea, more painful confusion. “Who was that boy.” He asked.  
Draco looked startled. “What? Christoffer?”  
“You seemed to like him.” Harry said, shoving down the desire to hypothesize about how terrible Christoffer probably smelled. Nobody could be that gorgeous and smell good too. Unless they were Draco, who smelled like expensive aftershave and mint. Not that Harry was keeping track of what Draco smelled like.  
“He liked me.” Draco said.  
Not: he was kind. Not: he made me laugh. He liked me.  
“I like you.” Harry wanted to say. Instead he finally lost the battle to his sarcastic streak. “That’s a first.” He snorted.  
Draco looked hurt, and Harry immediately regretted the remark. “What do you want from me, Potter?” Draco asked, reconfiguring his face into a sneer. “Are you here to make fun of me? To twist the knife?”  
“What?” Harry asked, suddenly breathless.  
“This is about what happened in the corridor, isn’t it?” Draco snarled at him. “You can’t just let it go, can you? You’re so bloody full of yourself, that you can’t conceive of anyone moving on from the famous Harry Potter.”  
“Moving on?” Harry squeaked.  
“You clearly don’t like me, so stop toying with me. I’m done with this, done with you.” Draco spat. “I’ve found someone who actually likes me, so maybe I have a chance at being happy now. Why can’t you just stop meddling and leave me be?”  
Harry reached out, grabbing at Draco’s trembling hand. He held onto it tightly, unsure if he had heard Draco correctly. Draco liked him, but he, Harry, had been such an utter fool that he had somehow misconstrued the entire thing.  
“I might not be in love with Christoffer, but at least he likes me. And that is more than I can say for you. So stop. Just stop.” Draco finished, yanking his hand out of Harry’s.  
“In love?” Harry asked, shakily. “You were in love with me? Oh, Merlin, Draco. I’m so sorry.”  
“Don’t patronize me.” Draco snarled.  
“I’m not. I- truly I never meant to. Draco, I like you too.” Harry sputtered, trying to get the words out. “I really, really like you. I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I should have said something sooner.”  
And then Harry did something that if he had even thought of it before that evening, he would have labeled as sacrilege. He leaned in, much as Draco’s dance partner had done earlier. Only this time, Draco didn’t lean away. He moved towards Harry, closing the distance between them. His hand reached up, his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair, his soft lips pressed into Harry’s own. Harry found himself worrying about his own lips. Was he pressing back too hard? Too light? Were they chapped?  
Draco was perfect. He led Harry through the kiss, much as he had led him through the dance. When they finally pulled away, he took his hand from Harry’s hair, placing it trustingly in Harry’s hand once more. He smiled at Harry, his lips coloured from the kiss. “Not bad,” he smirked. “Though your lips are chapped.”  
“It’s winter.” Harry said defensively. He breathed in the familiar scent of Draco. The mint, the aftershave. So what if he noticed what Draco smelled like.  
“Yes.” Draco grinned. “It is winter. Happy Yule, Harry.”  
“Happy Yule, Draco.”

***

As Harry and Draco left the Great Hall, arm in arm, two figures materialized out of the shadows behind one of the tall trees at the other end of the hall. The room had seemed empty enough moments before, and perhaps if Harry and Draco had known that their heads of house were listening they would never have been so bold in their affections.  
“Did you see?” Minerva McGonagall asked excitedly, clutching at the collar of her emerald robes.  
“Perfectly, Minerva.” Severus Snape replied, “If I hadn’t seen, that would make hiding behind a tree to watch the interaction much stranger.”  
“I knew Potter would ask him eventually.” McGonagall said, ignoring Snape’s comment. “He’s got too much Gryffindor courage to avoid it. It was bound to drive him to action.”  
“I think,” Snape frowned, “that it was young Mr. Malfoy who made the first move.”  
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that was his Slytherin ambition.” McGonagall snapped at him. “I heard the rumours too. Whatever happened in the corridor prior to the dance had nothing to do with that kiss. That was all Harry’s doing.”  
They were both so caught up in the discussion that they didn’t notice a third figure creeping up on them. Dumbledore stealthily intruded on the conversation, listening in until he realized what they were talking about. “Kiss? What kiss?” He _asked calmly_ , startling them both.  
“Albus!” McGonagall exclaimed, “How long have you been there?”  
“Long enough. Did it finally happen?” He urged. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?”  
“Yes, you missed it.” Snape replied. “They just kissed.”  
“Wonderful!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “I must commend you both. Whatever you’ve been doing with those students, they’ve turned out alright. I’m proud of them for finally working it out.”  
“I hardly think that the highlight of my career will have anything to do with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.” Snape said dryly.  
“Nonsense. This is a wonderful achievement.” Dumbledore responded, quite seriously. “Now, Minerva, we really must talk about Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. When can we expect that to be resolved?”  
“Never at the rate they’re going.” She responded, as Snape made a hasty exit. After all, he had better things to do than listen to his coworkers discuss student gossip. Although he had to admit, he was a little bit proud of Harry and Draco for figuring things out. Well, mostly Draco. Harry was, after all, still a Potter.


End file.
